Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar (26 page)

Her mother made a terrific apple dumpling but wouldn’t give out the recipe no matter how much Alyise or her sisters begged.

Donnel was very fond of apples, especially the small, sweet pink ones that grew farther north.

She loved apples sliced and dried and hoped she’d be able to buy some of last year’s if they had a moment before they left town.

Her grandfather used to carve apples and dry them whole and they turned into the most cunning old men and women dolls’ heads.

Just when Jors was about to suggest she stop talking, she finished her story about how an apple peel taken off in one unbroken spiral would give the initial of true love when tossed over a shoulder and fell silent, straightening in the saddle and transforming from girl to Herald.

:Why does she need to be anything but what she is when she is with you?:
Gervais asked reasonably.

:Herald Jennet has had more time to be herself!:
Jors pointed out.

Gervais tossed his head, setting his bridle bells ringing as they passed the first of the buildings.
:You are not Herald Jennet,:
he said as the first wave of laughing children broke around them.

The Companion carefully sidestepped an overly adventurous and remarkably grubby little boy.
:Maybe you should try listening.:

And that was all he was willing to say.

Go not to your Companion for advice,
Jors sighed.
For they will tell you to figure it out for yourself.

 

Judgments in Appleby were, not surprisingly, mostly about apples. More surprisingly, Jors found Alyise to be an attentive listener—both to the petitioners and to him. Although she deferred to Jors as the senior Herald, she expressed her opinions clearly and concisely when asked for them and in turn asked intelligent questions when she needed more information. Having been more than a little afraid of what the day would bring, Jors was impressed and grateful that he could set aside personal doubts and concentrate on the job at hand.

Late that afternoon, when they’d finished with official business and had moved on to the more social aspects of being a Herald—trading the gossip that kept the far-flung corners of the kingdom telling the same stories—Jors glanced over at Alyise within a circle of teenage girls and wondered if it counted as a conversation when everyone seemed to be talking at once.

“Herald Jors.”

He turned to see the eldest of the village councillors holding out a cup of cider.

“Don’t worry, it’s one of this year’s first pressings. Windfall from the early apples. It has absolute no trade value, so you needn’t fear you’re being bribed.”

A tentative sip curled his tongue. “Tart,” he gasped.

“A little young,” the councillor admitted, grinning. “And if you don’t mind my saying, you seem a little young yourself to be teaching the ray of sunshine there.”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, Councillor.” On the outside, Jors remained calm and confident. Inside, a little voice was saying,
Oh that’s just great. It’s obvious to everyone.
“And Alyise is a trained Herald. I’m only here to help guide her through her first Circuit.”

“Oh, I’m not criticizing, lad. And given that one’s energy, it’s probably best you’re no graybeard. I imagine she’d be the death of an older man.”

The councillor obviously believed he was sleeping with Alyise. That was a belief he’d have to nip in the bud. “Heralds aren’t in the habit of taking advantage of their Interns.”

“Advantage?” The elderly councillor glanced over at Alyise and began to laugh so hard he passed a mouthful of cider out his nose. “Oh, lad,” he gasped when he had breath enough to speak again. “You
are
young.”

There wasn’t a lot Jors could say to that.

 

:You seem fine in the villages,:
Gervais pointed out as they headed toward the Border.

:It’s different in the villages.:
Jors told him.
:We have well-defined roles and I know what I’m supposed to do.:

He glanced over at Alyise who’d turned to check on the mules.
:I’ve never been responsible for another Herald before.:

His Companion sighed and raised his head so Jors could get at an elusive itch under the edge of his mane.
:You’re beginning to worry me.:

There wasn’t a lot Jors could say to that either.

 

Six days later Alyise handed him a mug of tea and said, “Is it because you like boys? It’s just that I’ve been as obvious as I know how without coming right out and saying we should bed down together,” she explained a few moments later, after they cleaned up the mess. “I mean, I was with Jennet for seven whole months and you’re cute and well, it’s been a while, you know.”

He knew.

“Your ears are very red,” she added.

Jors attempted to explain about being responsible and not taking advantage of her while he was in at least a nominal position of power. Alyise didn’t seem to quite understand his point.

“You’re a little young to take such a grandfatherly attitude, don’t you think?”

“That’s it, exactly.”

She wrinkled her nose, confused. “What’s it?”

She was adorable when she wrinkled her nose and some of the tea had splashed on her tunic drawing his eye right to . . .

“Maybe you should talk to Donnel about it,” he choked out. “I need to check the um . . . mules.”

“I just checked them.”

“I meant the . . . um, stores!”

 

“Gervais explained to Donnel who explained to me and I think I understand the problem.” Alyise smiled at Jors reassuringly when he came back inside. “I was kind of dumped on you unexpectedly, wasn’t I? I mean, there you were, out riding your circuit, just the two of you hearing petitions and riding to the rescue and being guys together and all of a sudden Jennet finds out her mother is sick and you’ve got me. I know Heralds are supposed to be adaptable and all, but this is a situation that could take some getting used to for you, so I expect it’s all a matter of timing.”

“Good. So we’re um . . .” He tried, not entirely successfully, to pull her actual meaning from the cheerful flow of words.

Her smile broadened. “We’re good.”

“Okay.” Still, something felt not quite right.
:Gervais?:

He could almost see his Companion roll sapphire eyes.
:I dealt with it, Chosen.”

Not so much advice as an unarguable instruction.

“So . . .” Jors brought his attention back to the younger Herald. “. . . there were some tax problems in the area we’re heading for next. We should go over them in case they come up again.”

“Jennet and I ran into a few problems just like this back last month. Well, not just like this, because that’s one thing I’ve learned since I’ve been out is that no two problems are exactly the same no matter how much they seem to be and . . .”

He let her words wash over him as he pulled the papers from his pack. So they were good. That was . . .

. . . good.

Why did he feel like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop?

 

Last year’s tax problems didn’t reoccur, but new problems arose, and Jors did his best to guide Alyise through them. She was better with people than he was and as summer passed into fall, he allowed her to hear those petitions that dealt with social problems and tried to learn from her natural charm as she learned from his experience.

Given her unflagging energy and exuberance, he felt as though he was running full out to stay ahead of her and he never felt younger or more unsuited for his position as her teacher as when he saw her in the midst of a crowd of admiring young men.

Not that she ever forgot she was a Herald on duty, it was just . . .

:You’re laughing at me again, aren’t you?:

No answer in words, just a strong feeling of amusement. Which was, of course, all the answer Jors needed.

 

Frost had touched the grass by the time they reached the tiny village of Halfrest, grown up not quite a generation before around a campsite that marked the halfway point on a shortcut between two larger towns. A shortcut only because the actual trade road followed the kind of ground sensible people built roads on rather than taking the direct route more suitable to goats.

Jors had a feeling that without the mule tied to her saddle, Alyise and Donnel would have been bounding like those goats from rock to rock, Alyise chattering cheerfully the entire time as they skirted the edges of crumbling cliffs.

The Waystation was brand-new, the wood still pale and raw looking. No corral had been built for the mules but a rope strung between two trees would take the lead lines, giving them plenty of room to graze. While there was no well, the pond looked crystal clear and cold.

“If you have a Waystation,” Jors said as they carried their packs inside, “you’re more than just a group of people trying to carve out an uncertain life. You’re a real village.”

“And that’s important to them, to be seen as a real village?”

“This was wilderness when the elders of this village came here with their parents. They’re proud of what they’ve accomplished.”

He reminded her of that again as they rode into Halfrest which was, in point of fact, nothing much more than a group of people trying to carve out an uncertain life. Livestock still shared many of the same buildings as their owners and function ruled over form. Only the Meeting Hall bore any decoration—graceful, joyful carvings tucked up under the gabled eaves gave some promise of what could be when they finally got a bit ahead.

“Because a real village has a Meeting Hall?” Alyise asked quietly as they dismounted.

He nodded and turned to greet the approaching men and women.

They had not had an easy year of it. There had been sickness and raiders and heavy rains, then sickness again.

“We had no Harvest Festival this year,” a weary woman told them, pushing graying hair off her face with a thin hand. “With so many sick, there were few to bring the harvest in so when the fields were finally clear the time was past. We had little heart for it besides. But there are two pigs fattening, pledged for the festival last spring. One came from my good black sow, and I feel I should be able to slaughter him for my own use.”

“He was pledged to the village,” an equally weary looking man interrupted.

“He was pledged to the festival!”

As there had been no festival it would seem sensible to give the pig back to the woman who had pledged it, perhaps requiring her to give some of the meat to those in need. But this was Alyise’s judgment and Jors sat quietly behind her, allowing her to make up her own mind with no interference from him. He glanced around the Hall, from the work-roughened and exhausted villagers to the sullen knot of teenagers clumped together by the door. No one looked hungry or ill used, just tired. They’d been working nonstop for weeks. It was no wonder they’d skipped their festival, all they probably wanted was a chance to rest.

“I have heard all sides of the argument,” Alyise said at last. “And this is my judgment.” She paused, just for a moment, and Jors had the strangest feeling the other shoe was finally dropping. “The pig was pledged to the Harvest Festival. Have the festival.”

“But the harvest has been in long since and . . .”

“The harvest is in,” Alyise interrupted, her smile lighting all the dark corners of the room. “I think that’s worth celebrating.” Before anyone could protest, she locked eyes with the woman who owned the pig. “Don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“The sickness is past. The raiders have been defeated. And that’s worth celebrating, too.” The man who had protested the reclaiming of the pig seemed stunned by her smile. “Don’t you think so?”

“I guess . . .”

“And the rains have stopped.” She spread her arms and turned to the teenagers by the door. “The sun is shining. Why not celebrate that?”

Shoulders straightened. Tentative smiles answered her question.

No one stood against Alyise’s enthusiasm for long. Soon, to Jors’ surprise, no one wanted to. The pigs were slaughtered and dressed and put in pits to roast. Tables were set up in the hall. Food and drink began to appear. Musicians brought out their instruments.

“I’d have thought they were too tired to party,” Jors murmured as half a dozen girls ran giggling by with armloads of the last bright leaves of fall.

“My mother has a saying; if you don’t celebrate your victories, all you remember are your defeats. The food they’re eating now won’t be enough to make a real difference if the winter is especially hard, but the memories they make, good memories of laughter and fellowship, that could be enough to see them through.” Alyise gestured toward the carvings. “They know joy. I just helped them remember they knew. You know?”

He did actually.

 

:Careful, Chosen.:
Gervais adjusted his gait as Jors listed slightly to the left.

“You lied to me.” Alyise’s Whites were a beacon in the darkness. Which was good because he didn’t think he could find her otherwise. Except that she was on Donnel and that made it pretty obvious where she was now he considered it.

“What did I lie about?”

“You said that was apple . . . apple jush. Juice.”

She giggled. “It was once.”